Self-Medicating

Because today is one of those days where I really need a giggle. I thought maybe you could use one too.

And Now I Know

For a while now, I've been trying to think of what I'll do after the bar, at least in terms of this blog. I've reached the decision that this blog has become so bar-oriented that to try and shift its focus after my "retirement" would be difficult and/or just not work.

So, to make a long story short, once I've retired from the bar, I'm going to retire this blog as well. I'll keep it around as an archive of the whole bar experience, but I don't expect I'll update it much, or at all. Instead, my efforts are going to shift to a new blog, Memorable Speech.

Mostly, it'll be very much like what's going on with this blog now. However, instead of having a limited scope (conversations at the bar), I'm expanding my focus to include other places and people who aren't drinking alcohol.

While I still have at least a few more bar posts to put up here, in the future, my adventures will be recounted elsewhere. I want to thank everyone who's been reading this one, and a special shout-out to all my waitstaff bretheren. I wish everyone the best and hope that you'll come with me to the new blog.

The Night Everything Broke, and I Have Perfect Timing

First thing when I walk in the door, Debbie pulls me aside.
Debbie: The fridge is on the fritz and I had to throw out a lot of food, so we have a limited menu.
She pulls out a copy of the menu and starts pointing.
Debbie: We have this, this, and this, but not that, and that, or that other thing.
Ah, gotta love complications.

One of my first tables is a middle aged woman with two girls who look about sixteen. They sit in one of the soft sections which seats exactly three people.
Me: Hi ladies, what can I get you?
Matriarch: We're expecting three more, so we're going to wait to order.
Obviously, they're in a cuddly mood because the only way to fit three more people there is for the newcomers to sit on the others' laps.

When the three newcomers arrive, the group moves to a table. Now, I know that in the grand scheme of things, this isn't really anything. But, it is one of my pet peeves when people can't do math of the "Let's see, there should be ten of us, and there's enough room for four people here, so..." variety. The newcomers are another middle aged woman and two more teen girls, though these look to be only fourteen-ish. The adults have chardonnay, the teens have virgin margaritas.
Me: Make sure you make those blended.
Dave: Oh, you should never blend virgins. Very messy.

Then, the flyboys invade. New group this time, but again with thirty at once. Their enthusiasm and volume are impressive.

A middle aged blonde woman joins an annoying couple at my table (high maintenance while also being lousy tippers).
Me: What can I get you?
Blonde: Him (points at one of the flyboys)
Me: ...
I stare at her more or less blankly because I've already lost the willpower to pretend I'm at all amused. The best I can manage is a slight upturn of my mouth that's not really a smile.
Her: Ha ha. It was a joke. I was kidding.
Me: ...
Her: (pout) Uh, a Bud Light.

Thanks to the invasion of many, many flyboys, none of whom carry cash, the ATM quickly runs out of moolah. Meanwhile, the jukebox is out of commission as well, which means we have to rely on the radio for background noise the whole night, which means I don't get to play any songs by the new bands I'm listening to these days.

The flyboys scare off the annoying table, which leaves me less than 10% overall, and I almost thank the flyboys for this, except I would have to yell over them to do so and I'm already starting to get a headache. I sigh and tell Laura that it's going to be a long night.

When the flyboys clear out we get a bit of a lull, which most of us use to eat something before the B Street mob hits.
Me: So, I counted. On the calendar. I have a maximum of sixteen more nights working here before I'm done.
Laura: No, not that many.
Me: Well, I mean, that's the most. I'm surely not going to be here all of them.
Laura: Really you've got half that. Mid-July.
Me: No, Mid-August, that's my quit date.
Laura: No, Mid-July. The owners are selling the bar.
Me: What? No way.
Laura: Yup.
Me: Wow.

Here's the rundown - the owners are in negotiations with the new owners, and while the paperwork is not yet signed, it seems like a definite thing. The new owners have their own ideas, which have been hinted at, but not fully detailed, about what the bar should be like. Their ideas are different from what it's currently like, so needless to say, the staff are anxious and a few have already mentioned leaving. A big part of why we work at the bar is because of its somewhat sophisticated atmosphere, and if the new owners change that we're all just left with dealing with drunks. Yeah, I'll pass. Then again, it's a moot point for me in some ways, because I'm leaving anyway. Yet, it's still sad to think of because I had plans for stopping in from time to time to say hi to everybody, but if everybody's abandoned ship, that's not going to work.

In summation, it seems my last day has moved up by a month. Regardless of what we think of the changes the new owners make, there will certainly be changes, and I fail to see the purpose of figuring out the new system just in time to quit, so that brings me down to a max. of eight nights. Unless the deal falls through, or the new owners change things slowly, that is. Dunno how it's going to play out, and it's hard not to be disappointed. All bitchery aside, I like the bar and I like the staff. I'm sad to think of it disappearing.

Alright, so back to the night itself:
B Street ends. We get flooded with the mob. I start going hoarse from all the times I have to yell "excuse me" at people who either ignore me, give me dirty looks ('cause my doing my job is interrupting their standing in the way, how rude!), or move half an inch to the side because they think I can fit through that much space. I get handsy and get in nudging/lightly shoving people out of the way mode.

During one of my passes, a random drunk dude yells out to me: Little smile? Little smile?
Me: No.
Which surprises the hell out of him.
Dude: No?! No?!
That's right moron. I refused your demand that I pretend to be happy while dealing with you and your mob of obnoxious friends. The purpose of my life is not to pretend I like you.

As an hour or two passes and the crowd trickles (or stumbles) out, I spot J. who walks over to me to fill me in on the fruits of my matchmaking the other night. Said fruits: coffee date. He's not quite sure if she's the girl for him, but he likes her as a friend at least and then he grilled me again about what she said about him. It was cute. Now I've gotta remember to call Jamie and get her side of the story.

My last table of the night consisted of two morons who were both annoying and bad tippers. Dude one says to Laura: Yo, yo, yo!
Laura: (forced civility) Can I help you?
Dude one: Am I bothering you? Do you not work here?

Dude two says to me: Hey, I've seen you on campus. You're a psych major, right?
Me: Nope, English major.
Dude two: blah, blah, school, blah, blah.
Me: That's amazing! We both go college. We should totally be best friends now!

Okay, so I didn't actually say that last bit. But, here we have another law of what I'll call bar physics: The more obnoxious the guy, the more convinced he is that hitting on the waitress is a good idea.

And tonight. Tonight, my friends, I have off. Words cannot fully express how overwhelmed by joy I am at this fact. I'm practically radiating rainbows right now. I kid you not.

Meanwhile, the mantra that keeps running through my head is, "Only one more B Street. Only. One. More."

Dog (Owner) Watching

The city has recently opened a dog park, so a few days ago the beast and I went to check it out. I am officially a fan. It's a beautiful thing, I go, I take Sherman, she plays with the other dogs for an hour or more, depending on the day, and then when I bring her home she's worn out and pleasantly too tired to be a pest.

It's funny how similar dog park dynamics are to the bar. You have your handful of regulars as well as plenty of complete strangers, and an environment based in being social. So, it results in the same kind of people watching.

Just like at the bar, there are a fair share of people who just don't understand the basic concept. They are the people who bring their pet and keep him/her on a leash the entire time or otherwise do all they can to prevent their animal from actually interacting with any of the other animals. It's bizarre. And then, there are plenty of other assorted neurotics.

A woman enters with her husky, who's wearing a muzzle. The woman then proceeds to tell the other humans all about how she's training the husky to be a service dog - i.e. one who does pet therapy at nursing homes and the like - which is kinda cool. The husky is wearing a muzzle because she likes to nip at other dogs and this is what the trainer told the woman to do. Okay, I'm with you there. The husky rolls its face in the ground, doing its best to get the damn thing off. Now, we're doing alright up to this point. But then it all goes horribly wrong when the woman seems physically incapable of stopping her speech. She not only babbles away at the humans, she also maintains a near constant stream of near baby talk at the dog. After hearing this woman say, in a high pitched voice, "Go play with the puppy" (which seems to be a catch-all for any and all dogs, regardless of age) for the tenth time, I make my way to the other side of the dog park because my ears are about to start bleeding.

During another visit, I meet three people who're neighbors - a young woman, a middle-aged woman and her son. Between them they have four dogs. Three of them are the young woman's - two tiny dogs and a german sheperd who was picked up from the pound just the day before.
Gal: My husband was not happy when I brought this one home. I went to the pound to find a gerbil, and I just had to take her instead. (She laughs) My dogs are my babies. My husband teases me about it, he says 'you'd nurse 'em if you could,' but I wouldn't go that far.
She leans down and hold out a water bottle which is specifically designed for dogs and has a built-in dish at the top. It's not quite a baby bottle, but it's not that big of a leap, either.

This afternoon when we pull up there are already half a dozen dogs and as many people. One of the pairs is high-pitched woman with husky, no muzzle today though. A short time after we arrive, a woman and her two sons (one about seven, the other fourteen-ish) walk in with a border collie. Their dog likes fetching tennis balls. My dog couldn't care less about tennis balls, but loves to chase dogs that are chasing tennis balls, so I end up hanging around this trio for a while.

A guy and his good looking girlfriend/wife come in with a german shepherd who's still young enough to have a puppy's bratiness. He is named Klaus, which is a great name for him, and he also likes to chase dogs who are playing fetch. He also likes to wrestle/play-fight. He starts picking on the border collie, which freaks the woman out. She keeps trying to separate the two, plainly worried that the shepherd is trying to murder her dog when he clearly isn't. I try to reassure her that they're just rough housing, but she stays in over-protective mode.

My dog, meanwhile, is becoming best friends with the seven year-old who keeps giving her treats and has become her biggest fan. Once Klaus looses interest, the woman relaxes just a bit.
Woman: I'm actually afraid of dogs.
Which is the perfect reason to come to a dog park.
Woman: I was bitten by a german shepherd when I was a kid. It scares me to see him running at me like that.
Ah, so that explains it.

Klaus, resigned to the fact that the collie isn't going to play, turns his attention to my dog. They wrestle, and since he's at least half again as big as my dog, he's got the advantage. He keeps putting his mouth around her neck and pushing down, pinning her. Now, maybe I'd be a little worried about this, except that it's easy to see he's not actually biting her, and then there's the fact that when he lets go and turns away from her, she runs in front of him and instigates another match. Yes, that's right, my dog is the bratty little sibling in this equation.

The woman walks a little ways away to play fetch with the collie while the two trouble-makers are preoccupied and Klaus's people make their way over.
Guy: Is my dog bothering you?
Me: Nah, he's alright.
Guy: Okay, I just wanna make sure. I don't want to harsh anyone's dog mellow.
Me: He's just playing. Still a young one, huh?
Guy: Yeah.
Me: He's still learning his manners then.
Guy: (Smiles) He's so good at home. He sits, fetches my slippers and drives the car.

When we call it quits, my dog is well-coated in saliva, panting, and ready to crash. On the way home I decide that by tomorrow she definitely needs a bath. But, not until after we go to the dog park again.

Okay, So I'm a Meddler. But, It Was That Kind of Night.

Last night was one of those nice nights to be at the bar. Not too quiet for a Saturday, but not especially busy. Add a handful of pleasant regulars and a general laid back vibe, and it was a good night for me because I got to sit down and chat with people, but wasn't bored out of my mind. Good combo.

Last night was also a little bit odd because it was definitely couples night.

Tall, gawky, middle-aged guy walks in, has a seat at the bar around six thirty. Nothing interesting. Then, a while later, a woman walks in and joins him. I'm nearby at this point, and catch the "nice to meet you." My ears perk up, it seems we've got something blind-date shaped on our hands. She orders a margarita. He pays for it. They move to a table, and now are mine. She orders some food. He doesn't, but I have a strong suspicion that he's paying for it. Eventually, they go out to smoke. So does Brandi. The couple's out there for quite a while.
Me: So, they making out on the patio?
Brandi: No. I don't know that it's going that well.

The couple comes back, guy pays for the food, and they leave.
Me: Well, they're leaving together, that's a good sign.
Brandi: Are they holding hands?
Me: I don't think so.
Brandi: Go out front and look. No, I'll do it.
She dashes to the front door, and pokes her head out. No hand-holding.

Guy walks in, sits at a soft section, and says he's waiting for someone and is going to wait to order. He's wearing cologne. A woman walks in, a woman who I know from elsewhere, and who I know is single. They order their drinks and sit and talk together for a long time. No hand-holding there, either, but they had a date vibe.

Big group walks in. Among them a nice guy I know from the university and his wife. While the group is there, this guy can't stop touching his wife. Nothing obscene, mind you, it's strictly G-rated and when I walk over to check on them, he's absentmindedly watching her, and running his fingers through her hair. Very sweet.

Another group walks in, three gals and one guy. Two gals are a couple, as are the guy and the other girl. The guy and girl are getting married the next day. They're out to celebrate before the nuptials. They need shots. One of the lesbian gals comes up to the bar, because she's forgotten that I work there and am the one running a tab for them, and once the shots are ready, I remind her.
Me: Here, I'll take these over for you.
Gal: Oh, thanks. Can I carry anything?
Me: No, I got it. I've had practice.
Gal: Alright, I was just trying to be a nice guy.
Me: Thanks. I'm alright though. The tray helps.
Three tabs in the group. Lousy tippers, all. Funny. Lately, that seems to be a trend. I understand that weddings are expensive, but come on, folks, really. It was hard to be annoyed, though, I was just not in that kind of mood. Besides, the "nice guy" comment was pretty funny.

Rob and Melissa also make their appearance. Their first year wedding anniversary is coming up on Monday and they're as cute with each other as ever. They always sit right next to each other, plenty of hand-holding, and they lean in and talk and talk like everything the other person is saying is fascinating. Seeing them is one way to keep from getting cynical.

During a lull, I pulled up a chair and chatted with them for a while.
Melissa: So, what's new?
Me: Well, I'm trying the online dating thing. Started seeing a guy.
Melissa: Really? Rob and I met online.
Then they start grilling me for details. At one point, Melissa gives Rob a hard time because he's the one doing most of the grilling.
Rob: It's just 'cause I'm jealous. Ali's my secret girlfriend.

Around ten, K.C. comes in to watch the door. While I'm up front saying "hi," who should walk by the front windows but the blind-date couple.
Me: Hey Brandi, guess who I just saw.
Brandi: Are they holding hands?
Me: No. But, they're still together, so...
Brandi: Maybe there'll be a romp in the hay after all.

Okay, so now the stage is set. You can see what kind of mindset I was in, right? You can see what kind of vibe is in the air.

Enter J. and his buddy. J's an off-and-on regular, he's a nice guy, my age, who's the perfect kind of regular - friendly, but not pushy about it, and easy going. The two just came from a religious-themed event.
Me: Hey there, stranger. What're you guys up to, tonight?
J: Well, we got some God, and now we need some beer. All I need is to meet a pretty girl, and my night's complete.
He looks around, notes how slow it is.
J: Why don't you have a seat, keep us company for a while?
Me: Sure, just let me check on my other tables first.
I hang out for a while, and am sitting at the table when the door opens again and Jamie walks in.

Me: Hey there. Looking for people? (She hangs out with some other folks I know)
Jamie: Yeah.
Me: They're downstairs.

Then, the idea strikes me. When Jamie comes back upstairs a short time later for popcorn, I pull her aside.
Me: So, maybe I shouldn't say this, but I'm in that kind of mood tonight.
Jamie gives me a suspicious look.
Me: See the guy over there with the glasses?
Jamie: Yeah.
Me: Well, he's looking to meet a girl tonight. Whaddya say?
I talk her into it.
Me: Great. I'm taking some beers over, come with me and I'll introduce you.
I grab the beers and we walk over.
Me: Alright, you said you wanted to meet a pretty girl tonight. This is Jamie.

They say hello, J pulls out a chair for her, but Jamie goes back downstairs where the rest of her friends are waiting for their popcorn. When she doesn't come back after a few minutes, I go after her. She's hiding, but my scheming doesn't work if she's hiding, so I tell her to get back upstairs. Then I turn to Skunk.
Me: See this gal right here?
Skunk: Yup.
Me: Don't let her stay down here too long, she's gotta go back upstairs.
Skunk: Got it.
Jamie gives me a look that's none-too-nice. Then, I head over to her group of friends, which includes my friend Dorothy, and Dorothy and I make a plan. They group is a bit hungry so I say I'll put together some chips and salsa for them, on the condition that Jamie comes up to get it.

Brandi: Hey, you were supposed to unplug the jukebox. (it was on the fritz and this was our next attempt at fixing it)
Me: I can't waste my time on that right now. I'm busy.
When I tell her what I'm up to, she gives me her patented look of disgust. JP has me point out J and fill him in, so now there are a number of people following along.

Of course, when Jamie comes up for the food, I take my sweet time getting it while she sits at J's table. By the time I cough up the chips and salsa, she's given him her number. When she goes back down, I follow soon after, and when I return J grills me.
J: Did she say anything about me? Does she think I'm cute?
Me: She said you should call her.
J: Anything else?
Me: She said she gave you her real phone number.
J: And?
Me: She didn't give me any more than that. It's out of my hands now, but I wish you the best of luck.

Brandi: Well?
Me: She gave him her number. So, there's a chance.
Again with the look of disgust.
Me: Come on, what've you got against love? Feel the love.
Brandi: Shut the f* up, matchmaker.
(And, I've gotta point out here, that despite her show of disdain for my scheming, she did ask how it was going, so she clearly wasn't as disinterested as she pretended)

Alex: Hey, where's my girl then?
Me: I can only do so much in one night.
Alex: Come on!
Me: Besides, I heard a certain rumor about somebody giving you a kiss the other night.
He immediately turns and glares at Laura, who's in having a Guinness on her night off, and who was my source for that bit of gossip.
Me: So, I figure you're doing alright on your own.

J. asks me one more time if I think Jamie's interested, and I tell him he should definitely call her. He walks out with one of those cheesy grins on his face. I call that a productive night.

August 16th

This was technically my Friday to come in early, but I requested later, so Laura got my usual slow happy hour. I was entertained. I forgot my apron and had to use one from work. Brandi was entertained.
Brandi: Your apron has a naked lady on it!

Dave clocked out early, due to the deadness, and sat down at the bar to have his shift drink. Shortly before this, a certain obnoxious regular had come in and sat at the bar.
Me: Why are you sitting all the way over here instead of at your usual spot? You're not avoiding someone, are you?
Dave: (All innocence) You know me, I wouldn't do something like that, would I? (pause) Well, maybe a little.

Then he and Brandi started talking about one of the Bobs.
Brandi: Well, you're going to be dead in a year anyway. (pause) Man, he was so serious when he said it too.
Dave: And now he's predicting my death, again. He's just not going to be happy until I'm dead. Well, I'm not gonna do him any favors.

Enter the blonde chick (who'd already been in once) and the guy with her (who hadn't). Enter, as well, a strong smell of gasoline. She's one of the pain-in-the-ass annoying types and Laura immediately turns to me.
Laura: All yours. I already had her once today.
Me: Golly, thanks.

The guy heads to the bathroom, the chick orders for both of them, tells me he helped her put gas in her car, and goes to the bathroom as well to wash her hands to get the smell off. The thought crosses my mind that hand-washing alone just won't do the trick. The thought also crosses my mind to wonder how, exactly, they were putting gas into her car. Presumably it was an exercise which went well beyond the complexity of visiting a gas station. However, sometimes, it is better not to know. The smell of gasoline has now permeated the whole place.

It's still incredibly slow, so Laura opts for a smoke break.
Laura: I'm gonna go out front and have a cigarette. Or, I could just light it in here and we could all explode.

Later on, the party crowd eases in, though not so suddenly nor so plentiful as last week. I still fight the near-overwhelming compulsion to randomly smack the back of people's heads as I walk past them. Nothing like a big, pressing, drunken crowd to bring out my violent impulses.

Two of our regulars (and you never see one without the other) find a spot at the bar near the server station.
C: How's it going?
Me: Alright, how 'bout you guys?
C: Not so bad, but I'm kinda nervous.
Me: Why's that?
C: There's so many people in here. I don't like crowds so much.
Me: Yeah, you and me both.

Most of the tables aren't especially noteable, but one was kinda funny.
A trio comes in, two guys, one gal. I greet them, then leave them with the drink menu because they don't already know what they want. After a bit, I head back over.
Me: Have you decided what you'd like?
Bleached blond guy: Not yet, she's hogging the menu.
I pull another one for them, and bleached blond looks at it intently. This is when I get a hunch about this group.
A while longer, I peek over, it looks like they've put the drink menus down.

Me: What've you decided on?
Bleached blond guy names one of our girly martinis, as does the gal. The other guy, a large dark skinned dude wearing a striped shirt, flips frantically through the menu. The voice inside my head says, "For the love of Ronald, you guys have already been here a good ten minutes, picking a drink is not that hard."
Striped shirt: I'll have a pint of Bud Light.
Really? All that and you're having a pint of beer? But, mostly, I'm just relieved that they've finally picked their booze of choice.

A short time later, striped shirt asks if we can make him a cable car martini.
Me: I haven't heard of that one, do you know what's in it?
Striped shirt: Um, it's made with rum. And... I don't know.
Me: Let me check with the bartenders, see if they know.
I check. Brandi makes a brief, yet expletive-filled comment about people who order stuff when they don't know what's in it.
Me: Sorry, they bartenders don't know that one either.
His face falls, and he accepts his fate.

If you're wondering, it seems a cable car "martini" is made with rum. Now, I'm no martini snob, but come on, that's just silly. Though, that said, it sounds like something I'd like.

Another note-worthy thing about last night - I talked with Marianne and officially gave my notice. Now, on the schedule book, is a post-it note that reads: August 16th is Ali's last day.

Let the count down begin.

Steve the Bird

A few days ago, on my way out of the house, I noticed a small song bird perched on my railing. A young thing, too. It still had tufts of baby down peeking through its feathers. When it didn't fly off at my approach, I did a bad thing. I reached out and touched it. As someone who used to be a bird person, I know better, but I couldn't help myself. The bird didn't move. I shrugged, let it be, and went on my way.


Today I moved my car out on the street because my folks were painting the driveway side of the house. A little while ago I remembered this and went out to move it. As I walked up to my car, I noticed a shape on the roof. It was dark by now and I couldn't quite see it clearly. But, it was definitely bird shaped.


Sure enough, there was the bird on my car roof. As best I can tell, it's the exact same bird from the other day. He's still got the one tuft of down, even. I made an attempt to nudge him off, but no budging. So, I broke out my old Raptor Center training. First, I tried to get him to perch on my finger. Usually, this is simple - all you do is push your finger (or, usually, fist) lightly against the part where the bird's legs meet its body and the critter will step up. No dice. So, I had to grab him. I walked him over to my hanging basket, figuring it'd be as safe a place as any, and ducked inside for my camera.


I managed a few shots before Steve flew off. Unfortunately, this was the best one of them. Notice the little down tuft on the side of the head, and the stubby little tail with its not-yet-fully-grown-in tail feathers. Notice, as well, the paint on the porch, which is the first bit of the house to be done. See the blue/gray part? That's my new trim color. The old trim (though not the columns) color was pink. Vast improvement.

It would seem, after all this talk of what my totem is, I now have a flesh-and-blood one. However, much to my surprise, it's a songbird. And here, I was certain it'd be more predator-shaped. Ah well.

Isn't It Romantic?

This weekend kicked off the nightmare that is B Street. I'm just infinitely happy that there will be only four of them this year, instead of the five last year.

One down. Three to go. I haven't murdered anyone. Yet.

Friday started all right. Kinda quiet once I got there and I got to spend much time teasing Laura about her "boyfriends." At some point after one round of teasing, a good looking guy walks in and sits down at the bar by himself.
Laura: He's handsome.
Me: And alone. Go get him.
Laura: Shut up. I didn't mean it like that.
Me: Yeah, sure you didn't.

A short time later, four plastic-y women, the youngest of whom is at least half a decade older than our solitary lad, glom onto him. A few drinks, a couple shots, and they warm up to each other.
Guy: My friends were supposed to meet me here. I think I got stood up.
Gals: Shame on them. Well, we're going over to B Street, you should come with us.
And he does.

As the night drags on and I'm bored becuase the big drunken horde has yet to spill over from B Street, I hang out at the end of the bar for a while.
Gal: Hey you, bartender girl...
Julia: What can I do for you? (Which is far nicer a response than I ever would have managed to that)
Gal digs out a business card and starts telling Julia about how she's a sex toy saleswoman and if Julia is interested in either another job or hosting a party...
Which, of all the things I could have thought of to follow "Hey you," that would not have been on my list.

We edge up to that magical time of the drunken horde's arrival and soon half the people taking up space are sporting arm bands. At a table of four, three want nothing, one woman "needs" a water with a lime and a lemon, but feels no need to tip.

Two guys sit down, one waves at me like he's dying.
Me: What can I get for you?
Guy: We need a couple waters and a couple beers.
I mustered much will-power not to turn and walk away at this point. We've got eight beers on tap, more in bottles, asking for "beer" is just as obnoxious as ordering "a martini." I stare at him, giving him a chance to offer more than that. He doesn't.
Me: What beers?
Guy: Uh. (turns to friend) What do you want?
Finally they figure out what they want.

Stuff like this continues for a few more hours.
Me: We're getting near to last call.
K.C.: Not near enough. Not near enough.

So, that was Friday.

Saturday morning, bright and early, my folks are at my house continuing to work on repainting it. This makes the third weekend running that they've been over bright and early on Saturday and Sunday mornings to do such. The house is coming along nicely, but the early morning activity is not good for my state of mind. We're compromising, with me heading over to their house for naps, but the situation is not ideal.

A little after noon, I head over to mom & dad's for a nap. I end up sleeping like a dead person for over three hours. When I wake up, I have a muzzy-headed feeling which, last time I had it, indicated a fever that knocked me out for a few days. It's not nearly as strong, but makes me cautious. After a quick debate about calling off, I decide I'll go in.

All's pretty quiet for a while. Then Debbie gives me a heads-up that there's a new table on the patio. I walk out, intercepting a guy who I've waited on before and don't especially like. He's in his fifties, and thinks the world of himself. We're gonna call him George. I ask what I can get for him and he puts his arm around me. I take a step away, to discourage the manhandling. He steps with me and leaves his arm.

Now, we have a number of factors at work right this moment. Despite the nap, I'm tired. Because of the nap, my head's not feeling right. Thanks to the night before, and the early morning activity, I'm not in the best of moods. And he's touching me.

I reach around, pick up his hand, and pull it the F* off me. Then we proceed with normal business. He and his date (yup, he's on a date) have two bowls of shrimp, five glasses of wine, and two salads. Eventually, he asks for the check, which has come to $45.98

After a suitable amount of time, I go out, and see cash on the table.
Me: Let me get your change.
I pick it up. It's a single twenty.
Me: I'm sorry, the bill was forty-five and change.
George: Oh, I didn't even look at the bill.
Me: (What?!) I'll give you another minute.
Because, in what universe does five glasses of wine and dinner for two cost less than twenty dollars? (I'm saying "less" because I'm assuming a tip is included)

A couple more minutes, I go back out. There are a few bills on the table this time. I assume we've cleared up the confusion. I pick up the bills, then count them as I walk away. One twenty. Eight ones. Back to the table I go.

I point to the total on the check, which is still on the table in front of George.
Me: Your total was $45.98.
George: What? Forty five? (Like that's an outrageous price)
George's date: See? I told you.
Me: Here's where everything is itemized, if that helps.

I go back in. George also comes inside shortly thereafter. Assuming he wants to give me money, I ask if I can help him.
George: Oh, no, I just wanted to come in and cool off. It's hot out there.
Riiiight.
I walk over to check on another table and see George start talking to Skunk. I also see Skunk hand him one of the bar's business cards.

Me: What was that about?
Skunk: He wanted to know who the manager was.
Me: Somehow, I'm not surprised.

At this point, I'm keeping an eye on them through the back window in the kitchen. While I'm in there, I fill Debbie in.
Debbie: Maybe he wanted her to pay half.
Me: Now, while I can appreciate splitting the bill, that's the worst way I can think of to "drop the hint."

I head out to look busy by picking up empty glasses, but really to watch for cash. After two trips out, I spot the check folded under a glass with cash. I pick up both without a word to George. A $50 bill. Whoo-hoo! A whole $4.02 tip!

I hope. I really, really hope, that George's date was taking note of all this. I know that, were I in her position, the date probably would have ended there. One can only hope.

And this, my friends, was officially the point where I considered the way I was feeling, the mood I was in, and the prospect of staying for many more hours. This was the point where I decided "screw that." Thus, as soon as Laura arrived, I departed.

I got home at about nine o'clock, making for my shortest shift ever at three hours. Then I put in a movie and laid on the floor with my dog. The best Saturday night I've had in a month. No contest.

The Happiest Night of Not Dave's Life

Last weekend there was a personnel shuffle since Brandi wanted Saturday night off, so she worked the first bartender shift Friday instead of Dave so he could cover for her. Of course, our regulars, especially JP, gave her no end of crap about not being Dave. For instance, at one point he stepped into the back hall with his cell phone, called the bar, and asked for Dave - the effect was a bit ruined though, as he was speaking pretty loudly and laughing at the same time.

Then, when another regular came in...
JP: Dave's not here.
Ron: Oh.
JP: (loudly) So whatever you do, don't ask for Dave. 'Cause she's sensitive.
At which Brandi rolled her eyes.

Me: Hey, we out of popcorn tonight?
Brandi: Yeah, no oil to make it. (pause) This is the happiest night of my life.

A short time thereafter, she grabbed at her butt. Then again.
Brandi: Hey, can you see this hole in my pants?
Me: Nope, you're okay.
Brandi: Good.
After continued butt grabbing, questions about what was/was not showing, and a few laments that the hole was getting bigger, Brandi finally found some black duct tape and ducked into the bathroom for a few moments to do a patch job.

When she came out, the phone rang.
Brandi: The bar, this is Brandi.
JP, from the back hall: Is Dave there?

Now, with warmer weather, we're edging into toursit territory and I got my first batch of them Friday. A table of ten, a general mix of ages and such that made me figure a family outing. The eldest of the batch was a woman in her sixties who I goofed with.
Me: What kind of tequila would you like in your margarita?
Gal: Well, what do you like?
Me: The truth is, I hate tequila.
Guy: (laughs) Bad experience?
Me: Nah, I just don't can't stand the taste.
Gal: What would you recommend, then?
Me: Since you're doing a margarita, the house would be alright, but if you were doing a shot...
Gal: (laughs)
Me: Maybe later, huh?

I got them all their drinks and some menus, then started taking orders. Now, we have one sandwich that has "cocky" in its name, and not immediately with an "arrogant" connotation, if you get my meaning. So, when this gal ordered it, she giggled a bit.
Me: Are you blushing?
Gal: (without missing a beat) Not at my age, honey.

A fabulous table, all around and a lot of fun to have. I love it when people actually come in while they're in a good mood. It's amazing how rare that actually is. So many people come in blank faced, or frowning, that the wide, genuine smiles, are pretty uncommon. I hope that these folks continued to be in their fine mood the whole weekend and that they enjoyed what I assume was their vacation in my town.

Cheers to the happy tourists!

Things Are Not Always What They Seem

Right, so here's some catching up on my bar posts. Last weekend was a funny one. I got called "mean" not once, but twice in one night!

Early in the night, within about half an hour of my arrival, there's a few people sitting at the bar and maybe two tables. I'm clearing off empty tables form folks who've left and notice that one table that never had people does have empty glassware. It also has a pair of sunglasses. After a bit of investigation I find out that the couple at the bar put all the junk there in order to, you guessed it, save the table while they're sitting at the bar. I just love people who think they own the whole world, don't you?

A woman comes in, sits at the big table. She's not ready to order yet, so I hand her the drink menu and let her ponder it. I glance over. She's now moved to the other side of the big table. Another woman comes in. The first moves back to the side of the table where she started. I head over, get a couple of drink orders, and this is when I discover that they're expecting a big group. I groan on the inside, but this proves to be all right.

More trickle in to join the table, which they then turn sideways and pull another table up to. So far, they're all women. This could go badly, but I luck out and get that statistical oddity that is a big group of single women who are nice to their female server. They stay for a couple hours, are in a great mood the whole time, and tip just fine, save for one who leaves me $20 on a $60 tab. She's awesome.

Which leads us to a unique phenomenon in the service industry - this was my weekend where I liked the single women better than the single men.

One guy, R. is a semi regular and a friend of someone I know, thus making us almost acquaintances. He comes in with another guy, also a semi regular, we'll call him OG. They walk in and survey the bar. On one side there is plenty of room, as well as another regular, C. who is obnoxious.
R. (to OG): Let's sit over there, I don't want to sit next to C. he's an ass.
OG: But, that's the waitress station.
R: (pulls up a stool and puts it directly adjacent to the computer, which means he's now in my way)
OG does not pull up a stool, but stands, as the only place now to put a stool would be directly in front of the computer. Meanwhile, C. sits in the middle of two sets of empty stools. On one hand, I can't blame R. for not wanting to sit next to that guy, he personally drives me up the wall, so I can understand. On the other, he's in my way and there are plenty of empty tables. Whatever, I go about my business.

I reach over R. to get to my water, take a sip, put it back.
R.: I'm gonna lace your water with something. I'll spike it. (chuckles like he's funny)
Me: ...
R.: (says something else, but I ignore that as well)

I'm so unimpressed I don't even look at him. Later on, I overhear him talking to Brandi about how I'm mad at him. I'm very entertained. Being mad would require energy. I'm just not paying him any attention at all, because he warrants that little of my energy.

Later on that very night, another dude hunkers down in my way. Younger this time, and not someone I recognize. At one point, while I'm putting in an order, he turns to me.
Guy: Can I push the buttons?
Me: Nope.
Guy: You're kinda mean.
Me: Yeah, that's what they tell me.

After a while, 'cause I'm bored and guess that it'll shut him up, I let him enter in a round of drinks for me.
Guy: That just made my night.
Satisfied, he stops bugging me, instead focusing his attention on the bachelorette party nearby. He's one of those in love with himself types, who thinks anything female with think just as highly of him as he does of himself. He buys them a round or two of shots. Brandi makes him and his buddy a basket of chips and salsa even though the kitchen's closed. Eventually, the guy closes his tab.
Guy's friend: That's all you're leaving for a tip?
Guy shrugs, pushes the credit card slip away from him and the two of them leave. Brandi picks up the slip, snorts, and mutters something about what's the point of doing anybody any favors. She shows me the slip. A whopping 10%.

And I'm the mean one?